


Three Silly Words

by fuchsiaring



Series: The Final Problem Ficlets [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ficlet, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers, The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:05:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9364718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuchsiaring/pseuds/fuchsiaring
Summary: A ficlet inspired by an anon ask sent to yourdailydoseofjohnlock: "my mum's horrifyingly heartbreaking take on the coffin breaking scene was that sherlock fucking lost it because he was forced to say i love you to molly instead of being able to reserve those words for john"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Link to the original ask:  
> http://yourdailydoseofjohnlock.tumblr.com/post/155927226800/my-mums-horrifyingly-heartbreaking-take-on-the

He's never said he loved anyone before.

Ever.

As soon as he thought those words to himself, looking at John as he chewed on his lip and tapped out a blog post with two fingers with his brow all furrowed; as soon as Sherlock looked at John while his back was turned and thought ‘ _I love you,_ ’ he knew he could never say those words out loud--it would strip him bare, flay him open and expose his heart like nothing else ever could.

That was before he stepped off a roof.  
Before he spent two years fighting for John's life before he fought for his own.  
Before he came back and found John sitting at a table with an engagement ring meant for someone else.

So Sherlock kept it to himself, because John had Mary now.  
If it was dangerous to lay down his hand before, it was even more so now.  Before, John could have turned him down by saying " _no, I don't love you._ "  
Now, he could say " _no, I love her more than I love you._ "

But then he pulls a gun on a man and shoots him in the head on Christmas day.  
He gets that blood on hands he holds above his head because Magnussen threatened John. Because when they met, John shot a man for him.  Because now it’s Sherlock’s turn to do the saving.

He doesn't fight when he's arrested, because he's taking another fall for John Watson.  He's ready for this.  He knows he's never coming back from where they're sending him, but he did the right thing.  He killed a man, but he wasn't a very good man, and he threatened the man Sherlock loves.  
If there's one thing that Sherlock Holmes will always make clear, it's that no one hurts the people he loves.  Not Jim Moriarty, not Charles Augustus Magnussen.  No one.

So he walks willingly to a plane that's going to take him to his death.  He takes off his glove when he shakes John's hand because if this is the last time he's going to see him, he wants to touch him too.  And if he can't wrap him up in his arms, this will have to be good enough.

Sherlock knows it's his last chance, so he steels himself to say it.  He's got to, hasn't he?  If he's ever going to, now's the time.  He's been thinking it for years.  John needs to know.  So he takes a breath.

"John, there's something I should say--I've meant to say always and never have.  Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now."

His heart thunders in his chest, and he's ready.  He's going to say it, finally, after all this time.  Those words he's been saving for John Watson, for no one else.  

' _I love you._ '

But the words catch in his throat and he makes a joke.

What if he had said it, and John had shaken his head, looked away and scratched at his jaw?  What if he had said ' _I... I'm not gay, Sherlock_ ?’  Sherlock would be walking into Hell for a man who didn't recognize his sacrifice.

But what if John's jaw had dropped?  What if he had smiled that tiny crooked smile and looked at Sherlock with that look he had that said ' _you are_ _amazing_ '?  What if he had said ' _I love you, too_?’

Sherlock would be walking away from the best thing that ever happened to him.

So he doesn't say it and he holds the hand that touched John's against his lips in the plane.  Because he couldn't kiss John, and this will have to be good enough.

But the plane turns around, and now Sherlock has another chance.  He gets to be with John again, gets to see him and love him and keep on loving him even though he's got to keep it to himself.

So he keeps it to himself, because having John and loving silently is better than losing him.

But he'll never say those words to anyone else.  ' _I love you._ '  Just three silly little words that Sherlock thinks so many times a day.  Every time John does something endearing, every time he does something so completely _John_ that it aches--like his two fingered typing, or the way he puts his tongue between his teeth when he's thinking hard about the crossword puzzles in the paper, or that little huff of a laugh he makes when Sherlock says something rude that shouldn't be funny but is.

Even when he's being stupid, or slow, or dull, or annoying, Sherlock thinks it.

' _I love you._ '

He can never say it.  Those words will _never_ cross his lips unless he's saying them to John Watson.  They mean too much.

Maybe he won't ever say them.  Maybe they'll stay locked up in his chest until the day he dies.  But he won't say them unless John Watson is the only one there to hear.

But then he finds himself locked up in a room dozens of meters below the earth, looking at a video of Molly Hooper standing at her kitchen counter with her flat rigged to explode.

There's a coffin in the room, intended for her.

Those silly little words embossed on the lid.

' _I love you._ '

He needs her to say it, she has to, or she'll die.  Sherlock doesn't care for very many people, but he cares about Molly Hooper.

She's his friend.

So he steels himself to say it.  He's got to, hasn't he?  He doesn't want to, these words are special and this isn't the right time.  He's been thinking it for years, so he takes a breath.

“I love you.”

There they are.  Three silly little words he doesn't mean.

He imagines he feels something missing in his chest, like maybe keeping the words hidden away was making them matter.  Now that he's said it, the words don't mean as much.  He was _saving them_ , damn it.  They were for John.  No one else.  John was going to be the _only_ person to hear those words, because that's what made John special.  He was the _only_ person Sherlock has ever loved, and those stupid little words were supposed to be his.

When the timer stops ticking and the phone line goes dead, Sherlock doesn't say anything.  They're supposed to be soldiers, he knows that.  But this was his war, and he's lost.

He puts the lid back on the coffin and sees those three stupid little words staring up at him.

' _I love you._ '

He imagines that those are _his_ words--the very ones he'd said, escaped out into the room and lying down in the coffin.  The plate isn't a code phrase anymore, it's a name.  A name on the coffin.  The words he'd said, the ones that had died.

' _I love you._ '

He's never broken something like this.  There's something primal about it, cathartic and brutal and wonderful.  His knuckles ache and he's got splinters in his palms by the time he runs out of breath.

But the anger is gone now, replaced by a quiet acceptance of the truth.

The words can't be taken back, and now they can't be buried either.  Sherlock has lost them, and they've lost their importance.

But, well.

It is what it is.


End file.
